


Heavy in your arms

by InkyElster (IdeenElster)



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Drowning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 15:22:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16579094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdeenElster/pseuds/InkyElster
Summary: The goddamn bridge exploded and the split-second in which the stones fell away under John seemed to stretch into an eternity, plenty of time to lament the fact that he couldn't swim.





	Heavy in your arms

**Author's Note:**

> Another short oneshot. I hope the others will be longer (and pornier). Plus I want to continue this and the other ficlet, but other ideas first.

The goddamn bridge collapsed under him. It hadn't looked too sturdy to begin with and it proved to be even less so when the _other_ gang blew it up under their feet for trying to steal their job. For the likes of Arthur it wouldn't be too much of a problem, all the water. For the others there was probably more of a danger of being killed by the falling rocks. Unlike for John. The split-second in which the stones fell away under John seemed to stretch into an eternity, plenty of time to lament the fact that he couldn't swim.

He really should have tried to get someone to teach him, or learn it himself somehow.

From far away he heard Arthur call his name. 

John didn't even have time to call back more than a short and startled shout before the water closed over his head. The current rushed him away, crushing him against some rocks. Maybe if he'd been a more imaginative man, and in a different situation, he would have likened the river to Arthur's eyes, wild and stormy, but really he wasn't and the river was just wild all by itself, trying to kill him. John kicked his legs like he knew people were supposed to to keep afloat, but it didn't seem to have much of an effect, only pushing up and out for a brief moment before he was dragged down again and swallowed water. He was swirled around, choking and coughing and unable to get a good breath. The river didn't ease up. This was a rough part for miles and miles. Distantly, he could hear a horse keeping pace on the shore, but maybe it was just the rushing in his ears sounding strange. He'd never been drowning before. Maybe this was going to be the first and last time, too.

John’s vision narrowed, growing dark around the corners. Then there was a splash beside him and strong arms wrapping around him, pulling him up and his head over the water. He could feel Arthur struggling against the current behind him, kicked his own legs weakly and hoped it helped. Any sense of time or orientation had left him. He had no idea where anyone else was, least of all himself.

“Come on, Johnny boy,” Arthur said close to his ear, out of breath. “You're fine.” 

John didn't feel particularly fine. For one, the world was darkening and he couldn't breathe, kept choking on water where there should be air now. Then a rock came out of goddamn nowhere and separated them again. John heard Arthur call out for him, but he already met the next boulder head-on and knew no more.

When he came to, he was up on the shore on his back. A shadow blocked out the sun and there was a rough press against his open mouth, air forced into his lung. John choked, brought up water and spat it into the face of his rescuer.

“Gross, Marston,” Arthur growled with only a hint of relief in his voice as he wiped spit and water out of his eyes. His voice reached John's ear as if it had to pass through cloth. There was more river that John kept choking on and he felt himself get turned onto his side as he threw up water and what felt like some sort of small fish or other, or maybe it was just the meal he'd had hours ago. John heaved and another wave left him, leaving him coughing but thankfully finally able to breathe. It had been Arthur's mouth against his own and had he been a few years younger he would have welcomed it. In other circumstances. Before there had been Abigail and Jack. A small treacherous part still wanted it.

When John made to fall back onto his back, there was Arthur, holding him up and laying an arm around his shoulder, keeping him upright and seated. John didn’t even think about it when he turned his face into Arthur's shoulder while he kept coughing and pulling in rattling lungful of air. He could have pulled away. He should have, but a moment later when he tried to he just sank back, trembling. At least Arthur stayed by his side.

“You're alright, John. Just take your time,” Arthur said quietly, soothing him and rubbing a calming hand up and down John's back. “Just catch your breath.”

John nodded. He felt weak like a freshly birthed colt. If he had tried to stand, most likely he would have just fallen down again and wouldn't that have been another sort of humiliation. Just as humiliating as when he grabbed onto Arthur like a scared kid when Arthur moved to stand up.

“Sorry,” John said, voice rough.

Arthur gently pried his hands off his jacket and stood, some unreadable look in his eyes. John turned his own eyes back onto the ground between his knees.

A heavy hand landed on the back of John’s neck and squeezed, a reassurance. “It's alright. I'll be right back. Just going to get our horses.”

John nodded, didn’t look but listened to the crunch of gravel. He laid his arms across his thighs, stared ahead at the river that had tried to kill him. It didn't look so bad from afar, almost pretty with the sunlight glinting off the water. Different perspective, he supposed, from when he was inside it. Behind him, he heard the sound of approaching hooves and feet and Arthur stopped beside him. Then the reigns were held out to him.

“Where did the others go?” John said, glancing up at Arthur. 

“Went to finish up the job.” Arthur gently shook the reigns at him to take. 

Slowly, John pushed himself up to his feet, spitting out when he was upright and took them. His horse nudged his shoulder. 

Arthur kept _looking_ at him. Normally he didn’t spare John more than a passing glance and a sharp remark. “Will you be able to ride?”

John patted his horse. Then he nodded, met Arthur’s gaze head on. “Sure I will.”

“You still look a little shaky,” Arthur pointed out. He wasn’t wrong. John could feel his hands tremble, his whole body did from exhaustion.

That got a scowl out of John. He was no damn weakling or a kid. “I should be able to hold myself in the saddle just fine,” he said sharply. When Arthur’s face closed off, he regretted his words. He should have just kept his fool’s mouth shut, or found some kinder words as Abigail always told him.

Arthur shrugged. “If you say so. I better not have to pick you up off the side of the road though when you fall.”

John waved him away. “Nothing like that will happen. I'm fine.” To prove that he was, he put his foot in the stir-up and pulled himself up. His legs still shook a bit, but no one was going to be able to see that when he was on his horse. Fortunately, he didn't need help getting in the saddle, didn’t slide down the other side neither. Truth be told, he wouldn’t have minded Arthur’s hands on him, helping him if he was honest to him, but he’d blown that chance with some careless words. 

Arthur rode up beside him and their knees brushed, making their horses dance apart. “Soon as I get the chance, I'll teach you and Jack how to swim.” 

John tipped his head in agreement, madehis horse tip-toe closer again. “Probably a good idea,” he agreed. No fucking way was he going to get caught in such a stupid situation away. Drowning wasn’t the way he wanted to go, not if he could help it.


End file.
